


Shade of Red

by davefoley



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Drunk Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, FUN WITH LIPSTICK, First Time, M/M, MESSY!, Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-24 00:50:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16629722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/davefoley/pseuds/davefoley
Summary: “Come on Trap,” he whines even more and leans forward, making grabby hands at you until he topples over you and the two of you are on the floor like the drunk fools you two are. Although the mind fog has cleared up significantly and your physical faculties are much more up to par unlike ten minutes ago, you still wobble and your head is less than reasonable. “Prove to me that it doesn’t look good on me, put it on me for real.”





	Shade of Red

**Author's Note:**

> GOT A LOT OF STUFF TO DO AT SCHOOL OKAY SORRY FOR NOT WRITING IN FOREVER!!! i wanna get back into the groove eventually. while i haven't necessarily given up on my 100 prompts i lost the idea i had for the set i was last planning to write so... it'll be a while. this is something a friend and i came up with! i hope you enjoy

“GI Joe, penny for your thoughts?” the vendor says, gesturing to his cart of wares while you idled to your chagrin near his territory. Hawkeye was at a store next door looking at shirts and the night (as is the entire R&R) felt young and hot, you passed on looking around and his offer to buy you something in favour of puttering around to absorb the nightlife. That’s when he decided to swoop in.

“I don’t know,” You cast a quick cursory glance at the price tags of the tchotchkes on display, lingering a little on the more risque products that the vendor seems unabashed in distributing. You and Hawk are in what they call the red-light district. “Are you sure a penny isn’t TOO much for these?”

The vendor quickly plucks the see through panties you have in your inquisitive fingers and only beams at you, clearly trying to mask his disdain for nonbuyers touching his stuff. It was scanty and barely made of anything, and had a hole where the... well, what gets some people off is just what some people get off to.

“You’re a kidder, Joe!” he laughs off his discomfort and then he brings out a wooden box and opens it, revealing some pretty looking lipsticks lined up in neat rows. “Got a girl back home? Give her one of these, guaranteed to make her swoon!”

Your interest is a little piqued. You have been meaning to send Louise something nice while you’re here, just a gift to remind her that you’re still thinking of her amidst the sea of nurses you’ve been bringing to the supply tent. It’ll get her off your back for a month tops.

You pick one up and take the top off, revealing a startlingly vibrant red. A colour you can’t help but be entranced by. “Good choice, Joe!” the vendor coos, with his hands clasped together in mock excitement, “That shade looks good on anyone!”

“Looks good on anyone, huh...” You repeat his words absentmindedly and figure it’s nice enough without being chintzy, fishing out five dollars as per the price tag and putting it in the hands of the man. “I’ll take it.”

“Nice doing business with you Joe!” he waves you goodbye and wheels away just as Hawkeye leaves the establishment.

“Well, well, well, what did you buy Trap?” he doesn’t appear to be carrying anything on him as the two of you begin walking down the street, on the lookout immediately for a new bar to ransack and turn upside down.

“Just a little something for Louise,” You flash your purchase to Hawkeye and he looks impressed at the air of quality it gives off. “You get anything?”

“Not really.” Hawkeye rethinks his answer, “I mean, I did get something. A little something for myself.”

“Aren’t you going to show?”

“It’s private!” He hams being a coquettish broad at your inquiry but he does seem cagey when you bump shoulders with him and make a jokey grab at his pockets. You mock offense at his inability to put out, but only to keep the air light.

“Well, I’ll probably find it eventually,” you say, putting your hands in your pockets. “When I go through your footlocker trying to find out where my nail clippers went.”

“And I’m telling you for the fifth time, they’re not in there!” claims Hawkeye. You’re not interesting in carrying an argument that goes nowhere and you do expect your clippers in there, so you concede silently to Hawkeye’s squawking. 

You continue to look around. The lights of this red-light district aren’t red at all, how funny that they aren’t. They cast light like holes into the ground. It bathes the two of you in the glow in steady pulses, washes of darkness mitigated by the diffusion of soft yellow on the edges.

You imagine how seductive it would be to see red lips coyly dragging you from under the streetlights and into something dark and mysterious. Hawkeye points to a nearby bar and the two of you grin like fools before walking in.

 

\---

 

“I can’t fucking feel my toes,” Hawkeye slurs and hangs off your frame like a soused coat while you fumble for the key to your shared hotel room. The rum and gin and whatever else was gargled down your throat is doing a number on your spatial awareness. “I’m still six feet tall right, Trap? Look at me, am I Trapper?” You look at him but you hardly have the cognitive function to answer, he has your stare for half a second before he nearly collapses again.

And you almost let him drop. Not because you want him to drop but because it looks like it’s going to be a two hand job to get the door open. Hawkeye notices, somehow, and stumbles and helps you and the two of you fall over and lay on the floor when the door is finally pushed far enough. You flip yourself onto your back and breathe a heavy but pleasant sigh.

Hawkeye scrabbles to his hands and knees meanwhile, and has enough of a mind to shut the door before he wobbles to one of the beds and tries to take off his shoes. He’s been rambling the entire time but with your head swimming, you don’t pay much mind. Your hand fidgets with the lipstick in your pocket while your other hand reminds yourself that you aren’t flying away any time soon.

“Well, that’s one bar we won’t be going to for a while.” Hawkeye mumbles. “I can’t believe that one bar girl didn’t think I was cute, aren’t I cute, Trap?” You’re up and your shoes are off and he’s sitting on his bed with his shoes off and his socks hanging vehemently onto his toes. You think about it.

“You have the charm,” you begin to slur, loosening your tie a little while the alcohol seems to ebb and flow against your senses in waves. “You’re like the rotten little nephew that half the family hates but the other half absolutely adores s’what I think...” 

You unbutton your jacket while staring longingly at the way Hawkeye’s class As are rumpled and buttoned funny. Out of pure paternal instinct, you think, you approach him and unbutton his jacket for him, Hawkeye exhales and you barely catch it, he leans into your touch just the slightest as you slide it off his shoulders. “You’re as cute as a button, but boy the things you do...” The statement seems punctuated by Hawkeye wiggling out of your slight grasp on him and grabbing Louise’s gift from your pocket.

“Hawkeye--”

“Louise is a lucky girl, ain’t she,” Hawkeye takes the lid off and turns the lipstick until it reveals itself in a spot of the brightest red among the muted shades of everything else. It expectantly draws the eyes of both of your addled heads. “This shade would make anyone look good. Of course I don’t doubt that Louise is a fine woman herself...”

You breathe out a sound of disbelief. “That’s the same thing the guy said to me when he was selling me it!” You grab it from Hawkeye before he attempts to smush it all over his face. “Now hold on Hawk,” he whines as you screw it back in and snap the lid on, “when he said ‘anyone’, I don’t think he meant you.”

“Come on Trap,” he whines even more and leans forward, making grabby hands at you until he topples over you and the two of you are on the floor like the drunk fools you two are. Although the mind fog has cleared up significantly and your physical faculties are much more up to par unlike ten minutes ago, you still wobble and your head is less than reasonable. “Prove to me that it doesn’t look good on me, put it on me for real.”

You still wobble and your head is less than reasonable. Still. These happen to be the catastrophic factors necessary for you to say yes and so you do. The two of you are now sitting stool across from each other -- mere centimeters from each other -- as you screw the lipstick back up and gently grasp Hawkeye’s chin with your free hand. His eyes are lidded with contentedness and you can’t help but feel a little embarrassed; he’s looking straight at you as you try to keep a steady hand.

Nonetheless, his lips, parted just right, begin to take on a brilliant red as your hand thankfully is able to apply it in delicate, smooth strokes. At one point, his eyes that were fixated entirely on your expression of complete focus, slipped until they were closed and he now luxuriates further in the personal attention you give him. Meanwhile you remark to yourself that his bottom lip is surprisingly plump and biteable.

“There,” you exhale and realize you held your breath the entire time. “Done.”

His eyes open up again and you also realize how close the two of you are now, having unconsciously leaned toward each other as the whole ordeal was acted upon. The blueness of his eyes stand out all the more when his lips are red. So much more... Alluring. Sexy.

“How do I look,” your eyes, whether you want them to or not, are trained onto the way his red lips move as he enunciates each word. He puckers. “Good enough to kiss, surely?”

Hawkeye probably meant that as another jokey come on that’s supposed to be met with equal jest, but you having to finally tear your eyes away from them to see his whole face: kind of begging for it, playful in expression, almost inviting... Something simmers in your gut and you want to make it a rolling boil.

That’s when you lean in further to close the distance and kiss him. He is taken aback slightly but as you pry his mouth open and slip your tongue in he moans and acquiesces to your jarring need. He arches back against the side of the bed and adjusts his legs until he’s made a cradle for you to take refuge in, letting you move your lips against his in a way that brings heat singing down your spine.

And you get messy with it -- running your wet lips past the boundaries of those lips to smear the fresh lipstick all over his mouth area and the sides of his face, to his jawline and then you plant long schmaltzy kisses on his neck. He makes quiet moans and gasps and you drink up each one, sucking a hickey onto his jugular and feeling his hands clamor at your chest that’s accentuated by a long pleased sigh and his body seizing up. You start to taste lipstick and realize you must have some smeared on you just like all over Hawkeye’s face.

Your hands palm down the front of him and you excitedly unbutton each one, but eventually stop with three or four left because you find yourself dark with desire when you see his bare chest. You kiss him again and wriggle your fingers against his ribcage to elicit more breathy gasps and use the lipstick you have on your own lips to leave marks all over his body, relishing in the way he arches to meet them, presses them further against him.

“Trapper,” he finally moans as you fidget with his belt. He moves your hands away from it and instead motions for you to get on the bed with him as he crawls up onto it and lays back down for you, ripe for consuming. You can’t say you’re not hungry and enticed by the sight. You move onto the bed with a predatory glint in your eye and you descend, kiss him, and then stop to grab the unscrewed lipstick on the floor.

A rough and sloppy reapplication of the lipstick is done. Your fingers gently grasp Hawk’s chin again and he’s a lot less complacent this time, writhing and his breathing wild and threadless while your hands urge you to move on. You practically throw the lipstick away so Hawkeye can get his fingers tangled in your hair and continue where you two left off, his erection on yours electrifying your every sense. Your hands touch Hawkeye’s belt again and he gladly lets you.

The two of you rustle a little more with the undressing until it’s enough for the two of you to proceed uninterrupted; pants unzipped and removed, boxers slipping down, shirts splayed open with the ties a mess but none of it totally off, too much work... Hawkeye runs his mouth haphazardly against your neck while you do the same to him, moans and groans peppering the air.

When your hand enters the hole of Hawk’s boxers and wrap around his erection, his quiet moans quickly become louder and more frantic. He stops you though and fetches something from the pockets of his pants, an inconspicuous bottle of...

“It’s for massages,” Hawkeye whimpers when your hands, slicked up with the oil starts to stroke his cock while you drizzle it across his bare thighs and crotch. You remove his boxers fully and throw it aside with the bottle. “I was hoping to excite some nurses with it.”

“Nurses, my ass.” you mumble and get both of your hands making warm sensuous movements against his flesh. Your hands dip down to the insides of his thighs, close to his ass, making him whimper and quiver with need before moving back up and then sliding the other way down to finger the undersides. Then, with the palms applying pressure, push up until you meet his jutted hip bones and then right back down. “You have no idea how good this makes you look to me.”

He gulps and even through biting his lip, the moan that ekes out is impossible to ignore as you oil up his chest. You pay attention to his nipples and how oddly fascinating it is to know a man responds just as well to it as a woman. The lipstick kiss marks on his chest become runny and the scene would look morbid if you weren’t so aroused. When you go back down to his thighs they part further and you exchange looks with him, the wanton expression marked by the almost artistic smudges of red from his dazzling bruised lips, it says enough about what he wants as you grab the bottle again and drizzle more underneath his hard cock.

The oil runs down his perineum and you swipe it with your fingers lecherously, you bask in his body strung with want and need and practically lick your chops. Your slick fingers tease his hole and Hawkeye gasps and tries to press his hips down until they penetrate him but your other hand is holding him down and denying him purchase. He doesn’t give up however, so you finally push two fingers in and stroke inside with languid, deliberate hooks and drags until you make him scream. When you jab his prostate roughly, he almost does. He opts to throw his body against the mattress and chokes out a

“Please,”

laden with pleasure and well, who are you to say no to that. You slick yourself up and push his legs up until you can position your aching cock against him and with a satisfied moan of your own, begin to penetrate Hawkeye slowly while your hands fall just right onto his waist to hold him steady while he writhes.

“Fuck,” he pants, his legs spreading wider without him even realizing it. “Trapper, h-how big are you--” his train of thought is obliterated as you go another inch deeper. You’re probably about nine inches? Eight? Either way, you know many of the nurses seem to enjoy your company a great deal, and you’ve never faced any insecurity when you had to use the showers with the enlisted men, who seem to quietly flush and keep to themselves when they see you enter bare.

“I’m big, that’s all that needs to be said.” You grunt out as you rut further into him. Hawkeye’s not that small of a man, but in comparison to you he’s smaller, so you’re pleased to see -- and feel -- him accept your dick with little discomfort. You’re surprised he’s so quiet too, remaining restrained to the best of his abilities and strangling his moans, presumably because he doesn’t want to arouse suspicion from people outside the room. And you can’t help but want to untangle them. When you’re up to the hilt and he’s trying to catch his breath, you start pulling out.

The result is a shout elicited behind pressed lips and a hand that is quickly held over his mouth, his own, as you pull out and push back in all the more slowly. He pouts at your cheeky flushed grin but he still remains unable to protest as your cock makes its way back inside him, his resolve diminishing back to the trembling pile of nerves it was before you got a little brazen.

At this point, he’s reduced to begging with pitchy gasps and pants as you fuck him, his whole body moving in rhythm to yours. You assume he’s close when enough thrusts against his prostate has him mumbling your name over and over again and his hands, they were holding your shirt by the collar, are now next to his head twitching and gripping themselves helplessly.

Somehow, you’re the first one to go -- your body seizes up for a second before you pound into Hawkeye with sloven movements as you come inside him and he accepts with open legs and moist open mouth releasing the most delicious moan. Your flagging cock slides out and against your greater desire to pass out, you grab Hawkeye’s still slick erection and jerk him off until he’s shaking and his stomach is heaving and he comes with nothing still dying on those red, red, lips.

 

\---

 

“Welcome back boys,” Colonel Henry Blake greets the two of you amicably as you both leave the jeep with suitcases in hand. “You look like you’ve had some real big fun.” That’s when you catch him looking at something on the collar of your shirt, and you look where he’s looking and find a big red kiss mark right at the edge.

You blush as you think of the events that occurred that day and while you spare dragging Hawkeye into the situation by giving him an accusatory glare, you know the expression on his face is the same pleased one he had when you admired the lipstick on him for the first time.


End file.
